Avon preferred his locked-room mysteries to not have legs. Unfortunately, his client did.

She had said that her name was Cally, no last name, which was a sure sign that he was headed for trouble. Avon said, "Explain to me why someone would want me to stay away from you?"

She gave him a smile that could have started a fire in a room full of alligators singing off-key. And she was the soprano. "I make you nervous, don't I?"

"Stop evading the question," he told her.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Or you don't want to tell me?" he asked.

"I can't tell you."

This mystery was developing like two heads on a donkey having a communication problem. Avon wanted one of them to talk. He didn't care which one.

"I don't like being kept in the dark. "

"Please don't ask. It would be too dangerous if I told you. I just need you to find out where my sister is. Before it's too late."

Avon said, "When someone asks you to do something, it's always best to ask what else is involved. I find that it makes for far fewer unpleasant surprises in the end, for both of us."

Cally said, "That's a very cynical attitude."

"I'm a realist."

"I'm sure people call you quite a few other things."

Sometimes Avon found himself staring at his client for no reason. She was as beautiful as a diamond on a summer day and as mysterious as tea on toast. "You must be a mind reader, Cally with no last name. What are you trying to hide?"

Cally smiled. "You really must stop trying to flirt with me."

"You're mistaken. I am doing no such thing and if you think otherwise, perhaps you require services other than that of a detective."